February's Valentine's Day cloaked Hogwarts in a cloying, restless atmosphere. Pink decorations were everywhere, and owls busily delivered all manner of cards and gifts. For most students, it was a day full of anticipation, but for some, it was merely another nuisance that had to be carefully navigated.
Snape showed nothing but contempt and avoidance toward the holiday. He left the Great Hall earlier than usual and spent longer curled up in corners of the library or empty Potions classrooms, radiating an unapproachable aura colder than the wind outside the castle. Lin Yanqing could sense that this pervasive collective emotion, so strongly charged with feeling, made Snape deeply uncomfortable. It was a profound loathing of emotions from the outside world that he could not control.
Yet the soul contract greatly diminished the effectiveness of that avoidance. Once stabilized, the contract did not merely share emotions; it also unconsciously amplified certain resonances. When the Great Hall filled with laughter and young witches and wizards' hearts raced at the gifts they received, Lin Yanqing could faintly feel Snape's heightened irritation. And when certain bold girls tried to approach Snape, only to be driven back by his icy gaze and cutting words, Lin Yanqing also shared that sharp moment of rejection—and... a faint trace of embarrassment that perhaps even Snape himself had not noticed.
This forced emotional immersion exhausted them both. Lin Yanqing had to use Legilimency more frequently, building barriers between himself and this sea of emotion. Snape, meanwhile, was like a beast trapped at the center of unbearable noise, growing ever more restless and agitated.
The Valentine's Day afternoon Potions class had an especially strange atmosphere. Professor Slughorn was probably the only one genuinely enjoying the holiday. He had even lit candles carrying the faint scent of Amortentia in the classroom—he emphasized that they were completely safe and only meant to enhance the atmosphere—which left quite a few students feeling distracted.
That day's lesson was to brew a basic antidote for jinxes, used to dispel the effects of minor prank spells. At his workstation, Snape's movements remained precise, but Lin Yanqing could feel that his attention was not entirely focused. Part of his mind seemed to be resisting the interference of emotional noise from outside, while another part was... on guard against something.
His vigilance was not unfounded.
Just as Snape was about to add the final crucial ingredient—powdered unicorn horn—to his cauldron, something changed!
It was not obvious interference from James Potter's direction, but something subtler and more sinister. Through the contract, Lin Yanqing suddenly sensed a powerful and unfamiliar malicious emotion, like a poisoned needle. It was not aimed at Snape himself, but precisely at the nearly completed antidote before him! At the same time, from the corner of his eye, he saw a Slytherin boy behind and to the side—Avery—swiftly retract his wand, a malicious, entertained expression on his face.
A Silencing Charm! An extremely subtle malicious spell intended to disrupt the magical stability of the ingredients!
Snape had clearly sensed the abnormal fluctuations of magic within the cauldron as well. His face instantly darkened as he tried to force it under control, but the magic disturbed by the malicious spell resonated with his own less-than-perfectly calm state of mind, already unsettled by outside interference. Through the contract, Lin Yanqing clearly felt the sudden chaos in Snape's magic!
The potion in the cauldron began bubbling violently, its color shifting toward an ominous dark gray and giving off a pungent odor—it was about to fail, perhaps even cause a small explosion!
At that critical moment, Lin Yanqing acted almost instinctively. He did not try to help Snape stabilize the already out-of-control potion. Instead, he did something bolder and more direct—
He spun toward Avery, the Slytherin boy who had cast the malicious spell. Before the smug expression had vanished from the other's face, Lin Yanqing raised his wand. He did not attack. Instead, he took the rudimentary Legilimency technique he had only recently mastered, one requiring immense concentration, mixed it with all the anger and precise targeting he shared from Snape through the contract over this malicious interference, and struck back fiercely like an invisible mental blow!
Avery let out a short cry, as though something had brutally stabbed into his mind. He staggered back a step and crashed into the workstation behind him, knocking over his own cauldron and making a terrible mess. His face went deathly pale as he stared at Lin Yanqing in horror, as if he had seen a ghost.
He clearly had not expected this Ravenclaw, who had always seemed gentle and quiet, not only to notice his little trick so keenly, but also to launch such a precise mental attack—one carrying such a strong Snape-like flavor of retaliation!
At the same time, on Snape's end, the source of the malicious interference had been directly dealt with by Lin Yanqing in such an unexpected way. Moreover, as Lin Yanqing launched his counterattack, he transmitted through the contract an intensely focused, calm, and clearly targeted fighting spirit. By sheer coincidence, it helped Snape instantly stabilize his own chaotic emotions. Seizing that fleeting opportunity, Snape flicked his wand and cast several swift, precise corrective spells, forcibly steadying the potion that had been on the verge of exploding. Though the finished product's quality had been greatly diminished and its color was murky, at least the cauldron had not exploded.
Merlin! Professor Slughorn hurried over. First, he stared in shock at the mess around Avery, then at the barely successful, strangely colored antidote in Snape's cauldron. Finally, his gaze fell on Lin Yanqing, who stood with his wand raised and a calm expression. What happened here?
Nothing, Professor. Lin Yanqing spoke first, his voice steady. Avery seemed to have made an error and knocked over his cauldron. The commotion startled me, so I raised my wand instinctively. Sorry. He perfectly played the part of an innocent person frightened by an accident.
Avery opened his mouth, wanting to accuse Lin Yanqing of using Dark magic—or something like it—on him. But he had no evidence, and since he had cast the malicious spell first, he did not dare make a fuss. He could only swallow it with a livid face and, under Professor Slughorn's displeased gaze, awkwardly clean up the mess he had caused.
Snape did not say a word from beginning to end. He stared fixedly at the strangely colored potion in his cauldron, his chest rising and falling faintly. Through the contract, Lin Yanqing could feel the surging mixture of lingering fear and anger within him. But this time, that anger was clearly directed at Avery, not Lin Yanqing. Beneath it, there was even a trace of... something exceedingly rare: recognition of Lin Yanqing's decisive and effective response.
It was an understanding forged in battle. It had nothing to do with feelings, only survival.
The bell signaling the end of class came like a pardon. Snape was the first to pack his things and leave quickly. But as he passed Lin Yanqing, his steps paused almost imperceptibly. Something tiny and light slipped from his sleeve and fell into the shadow by Lin Yanqing's feet.
Only after everyone had left did Lin Yanqing bend down to pick it up—a smooth black pebble, engraved in incredibly fine strokes with the ancient rune representing "and." The stone was cold, yet it still carried the warmth of Snape's fingertips.
It was not a potion ingredient. It was not a research note.
It was a token. A cold, silent confirmation of spoils and alliance belonging to Severus Snape.
He regarded their joint resistance against outside malice as a success. And this pebble was his commemoration and confirmation of it.
Lin Yanqing clenched the pebble in his hand, its cold touch spreading through his palm.
He knew that the bond between them, after their shared research, shared experiences, and even their cooperation that day, had become incomparably resilient. It was no longer merely a nuisance or a tool. In this castle full of open and hidden threats, it had become their unique weapon and armor for survival.
The price was deeper emotional entanglement and greater risk, but what they gained was a cold trust that no one else could match.
The Great Hall remained lively on Valentine's Day night, but Lin Yanqing could sense that the soul connected to the other end of the bond, after the afternoon's upheaval, was still cold yet held a little less of the despair of fighting alone, and a little more of a shadowy, unspoken confidence.
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